Heart of Vengeance (Alice Worth #6) - Lisa Edmonds Page 0,30

spells; the other spellwork was more ancient and invoked dark power. They could be the work of a sorcerer. Maybe Valas’s own handiwork? I’d never seen her do spellwork, but I had no doubt she could.

Something moved in the shadows to my right—something almost human-shaped, but not quite. My nose twitched at the all-too-familiar odor of burned paper and a dozen other exotic scents, many of them unpleasant. Dark magic slithered around me. Malcolm flitted in consternation.

I glanced again at the glyphs in the circle. Not the work of a sorcerer, but a vampire warlock—one I’d met recently and had hoped not to meet again.

“You owe me for the damages to the deck on my new house,” I told the creature in the shadows.

Vlad laughed. The sound made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Malcolm shuddered as the laugh became a low hiss and then faded.

“Thank you for attending me this evening.” Valas’s voice came from behind me.

Keeping my eyes on Vlad’s shadow, I said, “Why am I here?”

She appeared out of the darkness and glided soundlessly across the floor to a chair facing the stone circle. She wore a floor-length midnight-blue dress and a ruby pendant, the signature color of her Court. Her long, dark hair hung loose to her waist, like a cape.

A second person emerged from the shadows. Despite my unease about Vlad’s presence and the purpose for the meeting, I smiled. “Adam!”

Adam March, a psychic and Seer who had worked for the Court most of his life, had helped me during my investigation into the West-Addison Harnad.

He returned my smile, but his was brief. “Hi, Alice. It’s good to see you.” He looked at Malcolm. “Hello.”

Startled, Malcolm blinked. He wasn’t used to anyone addressing him directly, or even knowing he was present. After a moment, he waved. “Uh, hi.”

“You are here because your errand, as you call it, has become urgent,” Valas said. She settled into the chair. Adam and Matthias stood on either side of her.

“How urgent?”

“You must prepare to travel immediately. From what Mr. March has seen, we have no time to waste.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. For months I’d waited for this moment, and now that it was here, I was strangely relieved. “Tell me everything.”

Matthias handed me a red file folder. Since he was going with me, Malcolm read over my shoulder.

The first few pages were from a Court employee dossier for a woman named Mariela Diakos. Mariela was forty-one and athletic. The file contained her official Court identification photographs: one from the front, one from the side, like mugshots. She had short dark hair, dark brown eyes, and an intense stare. The file also included photos of several tattoos. They were intricate, beautiful, and no doubt as magically enhanced as my own.

I read through the information that wasn’t redacted. “High-level blood and earth mage,” I mused. “An employee of the Court for ten years. Formerly employed by the Bell Cabal.” I glanced up at Valas. “Sold to the Court?”

“In return for a debt,” Valas said. “That has no bearing on the current situation.”

The fact Mariela had been sold to settle a debt, and Valas thought that was a perfectly normal sort of transaction, told me a lot about both of them. Mariela likely had no loyalty to the Court, and I didn’t blame her. People weren’t for buying and selling, despite what Valas, Moses, and their ilk might believe. Someday, I hoped to prove it to them.

I read on. The dossier didn’t contain many details about Mariela’s duties as a mage working for the Court, but several reports assessed her powers and abilities. She had impressive skill with spellwork, including wards and blood magic.

I looked up. “So this is who stole your doohickey?”

Valas gave me an almost imperceptible nod. “She was a trusted employee. This betrayal is most infuriating.” Her eyes glowed.

I flipped through the rest of the file. “There’s nothing in here about what she took or why she took it.”

“That information is highly confidential. I do not entrust it to many.” Her fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. “What do you know of the Book of Thoth?”

I frowned. “The real one, or the legend?”

A tiny smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “As you know, nothing is ever as simple as ‘real’ or ‘legendary.’ In ancient Egypt, Thoth was god of knowledge and writing. The Book of Thoth has referred to many texts over the millennia—some thought to